


Gifts

by intheheart



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-03-31 14:25:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3981424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intheheart/pseuds/intheheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inquisitor Lavellan must be away for three days tending to politics. Solas awaits her return while he considers what she means to him and makes a possibly fateful decision.</p><p>This takes place on the day she returns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor Lavellan must be away for three days tending to politics. Solas awaits her return while he considers what she means to him and makes a possibly fateful decision.
> 
> This takes place on the day she returns.

Three days. He had never been one for impatience; there was never a need. Prudence required swift action at times, but as a rule, everything was carefully thought out, planned, and tempered. Skyhold's emptiness echoed whenever she was absent, yet this time, the weight of it all was upon him. All proceeded, externally, as usual, with the hours spent on this most recent panel, an account of the night they had saved the empress from an assassin in her midst, engaging in the rush of politics, ego, gossip, and even dance in the presence of Orlesian nobility. He and Nirwen had even shared a dance that night, outside, the cool air upon them after an exhausting, different sort of hunt for her, taking comfort in their intimacy on the isolated balcony. Too many eyes and ears inside, especially with his playing at being a mere servant, but that one moment was theirs. She rested her head upon his shoulder in the carriage on their return, increasingly unsuccessful at suppressing her yawns, as he pulled her, drifting, closer to him. For a woman newly trained in court behavior, dance, and even how to not be blindsided by intrigue, she more than carried herself well. There was pride and love in the gaze he cast upon her, tracing the curve of her profile with his eyes, the horses and her relaxed breathing the only sounds.

Politics was to blame this time again. An Orlesian blowhard with a parcel of lands the Inquisition needed to make a direct crossing to the Arbor Wilds. The Comte envisioned himself worthy of Nirwen's presence, the puffed up fool he almost certainly was, demanding above his station for being some distant representative of the Valmont family name. Josephine offered to send her most reliable envoys, but Nirwen volunteered to ride out herself, as a timely solution was more important than diplomatic dallying back and forth. Cassandra and Vivienne went along as reinforcements in more than one manner. Her resoluteness was admirable, as well as her patience with rising to leadership since chance granted her the Anchor. The entire exercise would take three days until she was home again. It was morning on the third day, and the paint on Celene's dress was nearly dry.

Although finished with his latest panel, a certain impulse to dab additional color onto the dress overtook him as he heard her voice echo in the hall outside, greeting Varric. This positioned him away from the doorway, his heart speeding as his beloved's footsteps turned this way.

“Solas?”

“Vhenan. You have returned just in time for Celene's dress to be dry. ”

“I don't see any inclusion of us sharing a dance on that balcony,” she teased. “It's remarkable, as always, Solas. Your technique...it is such a gift. Your magical gifts might not even inspire as much awe.” She laughed, a laugh he hadn't heard in days, and had not realized he missed.

He turned toward her as she drew close, placing a hand upon his waist. They kissed, first softly, then having missed one another these three days apart made increasingly clear. As he pulled her close into him, openly yearning for her body, catching from her skin a blend of perfumed oils, sweat, and wind. The combination reddened his ardor. He wanted more, to kiss her, taste her, breathe her in from top to bottom. Her body was exhausted, but her awakened senses lifted her, and she wanted a different one of his gifts entirely.

“Come upstairs,” she whispered into his ear, tracing the line of it with her tongue as she pulled away. If not for the openness of this place, the ears above, the birds, the open doors, they both knew their union would not bear further hesitation. He pulled her into him once more, pressing against her, then sliding her onto his thigh as he did after their very first kiss. Though she teased with a debate at times if those kisses, feelings unmasked for the first time within shared dreams, truly counted. Since then, they shared more than enough kisses to count.

This was something. It was terrifying, undeniable, and complicated as it was, this made sense. They would see this through, see Corypheus defeated, and he would show her the true meaning of the orb. His mistakes weighed heavily, but all indications from Nirwen were that her mind was open, heart was open; she would be thoughtful and consider all angles. There might be anger, but in love, he did not feel blinded. He saw her clearly, someone present with both the fire and the wisdom of times long lost, a product of her life before all of this, before another fumble on his part that nevertheless brought her into his reality.

Both regretful of and thankful for that fact, Solas nevertheless watched Nirwen take leave to her quarters, where she would be waiting for him to follow. Alone for a moment, he looks at the record of her journey on the walls around him, giving up pretending it is not his journey too, that he hasn't poured parts of himself into the record, that he is separate at all from all of this, from _her_.

He felt, for the first time in ages, and in strange ways he failed to always perceive, hopeful. Hope, that fleeting thing too often punctured by regret, by thoughts snapping him back from desire back into thick focus upon what was necessary. Yet, in spite of himself, hope lingered like a wisp, a stubborn reminder that he was more than a mind. Solas was not pure of purpose and singularly directed as his spirit friends. No, he was flesh, he felt the spark of her presence as acutely as the depth of her absence. Whatever this entanglement had become, he knew that there was no turning back. The question that remained was just how far forward could it all possibly go?

He had much to do and he did much to not let his thoughts drift to the recognition of her limited life. They were still on a necessary path, dutiful even as they both loved. More than hope, there was, perhaps, possibility. His plans, those woven threads, frayed over time into a rougher measure, they might be delayed, enacted with a certain pace, allow the nascent hope stirring within to root, grow sturdy, and perhaps into a life, shared, in purpose, if not in deeds. At what cost? Could she--?

He would have to trust her, and earn hers again once done, without facades or misdirection. The wisp of hope surged between racing thoughts with a hundred reasons not to. It was terrifying, it seeped within his bones, there would be questions, consequences; maybe he would lose her. But he could not lose her. He knew that long ago. Knew it before he allowed himself to know it.

There was but one gift that he could give her that mattered at all, something bare enough to convey how profoundly she had diverted his presumptions and nurtured something small, deeply buried, that he might have once thought beyond himself for good. Something laden with risk, the only thing that could ever begin to come close to what she ignited within him. The truth.


	2. More Than Relief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitor Lavellan must be away for three days tending to politics. Solas awaits her return while he considers what she means to him and makes a possibly fateful decision.
> 
> This takes place on the day she returns.

The sight of Skyhold drawing closer only amplified her exhaustion, but the journey of three days to deal with a recalcitrant noble was finally behind her. Politics and dealing with the nobility, especially those who considered themselves powerful by virtue of bearing a name shared among many other similarly hungry members of the populous noble class, was still not Nirwen's strength, but with Josephine's assistance in predicting the masked gentleman's bluffs and blind spots, their own small scale Game concluded firmly. The Orlesian had agreed to grant the Inquisition free passage through his lands for the efforts against Corypheus in exchange for some promises of recognition to be delivered later. Although her clan was no stranger to humans, even to humans of some means, she was glad the business had been tied up without further delay. She patted her hart as he lowered his head for her behind the ear scratches. Mounted up, suddenly every part of her yearned for home, a bath, and a bed.

Thighs heavy from the ride, she made her way to the rotunda first, catching Solas dabbing the finishing color on his latest panel. Her awe at his ability to capture such an elegant record never faded. Sliding a hand about his waist, leaning her body into his, calling her senses and the soreness back to presence as she melted into his kiss.

Three days, leaving him behind due to politics. She was no politician, just a dutiful Dalish daughter who chased away death and had to tame her feelings for the favor of another as if she were on the hunt. She missed Solas, his honesty, and his subtle disdain for the tedious pomposity of these nobles. There was so much to do, always so much to do, but this was where she wanted to be. She ignored the impulse to simply pull him back onto her. Too many doors, too many ears here for the reunion both of them desired.

“Come upstairs,” she whispered in his ear, biting it softly, drawing back with hesitation. There would be the usual gossips and onlookers, the whispers, but she was too tired to care. Stepping away first, knowing he would soon follow, she was stopped by a maid in the hall before making the long walk upstairs, the soreness blurring into her limbs.

One of the few luxuries she requested in her quarters, the modest bathtub set off to a corner, was quickly filled with steamy water and fragrant oils. The maid from earlier had informed her of a prepared bath, and she stopped in to check if Nirwen had any further requests before exiting. It was a long way from huddled soaks in the river, awaiting the adjustment when one no longer shivered, or even the hot spring she encountered that time with Nehn. She stepped out of her leathers, then stripped down entirely. Pulling up into a back stretch, she rolled her spine bit by bit, and then shook out her limbs, feeling the weight, the dull, not yet unpleasant ache that would sear her every movement tomorrow. Nirwen lowered herself into the bath. Lavender, elfroot oil, and what could only be eucalyptus floated upward, drawn into her lungs with slow, deep breaths.

Solas latched the door several minutes later and climbed the stairs. His eyes drifting over her until meeting her own gaze, enveloped in the hazy steam. Nirwen's paced breath and the potent herbs had relaxed her, but her stomach suddenly betrayed all of it by catching his languid glance. The feeling moved distinctly _lower_ , and she closed her eyes with a slow smile.

“You took too long,” she said, lifting her arms from the warm water onto the sides of the tub.

Solas knelt behind her, softly kissing a trail down her neck. The words “ma vhenan”, uttered in hot breath against her ear did the opposite of quelling the fire inside in spite of her spent limbs. She welcomed the coolness of his hands upon her shoulders, spreading his fingers and kneading them while strands of healing magic also worked into the muscles. The pressure opened up the pain, and magic took it away.

Nirwen leaned her head back, catching warmth in those stormy eyes so often full of distance. He kissed her forehead, but her hands took his face and guided Solas to her lips. Her eyes closed, she took her time, too much time, but to linger in this passionate comfort after being away, it was an indulgence she allowed herself. The bath had begun to cool, the steam dissipated, and relief from the pain of travel had come at the hands which would bring her more than just relief tonight. She rose from the water.


	3. Doubt

In the hour's hazy, nascent light, she slept with her hand lightly between her breasts, above her heart, Anchor down. She did this sometimes, reflexively, and it always stirred in him a pang of sorrow that his orb, in more ways than one, had nearly removed the light from this world.

Here, just before the dawn, his old friend doubt had returned, the duality of thought between the hope his heart clung to and the doubt meant to set him upright on his path again disturbed his mind. Here, there was a weight, a reality fully formed that without true effort, unexpectedly made its impression. Whether that was this ill-considered love or the respect of others, even friendships from those who even sometimes sought his company now, there was something grounding, even as his purpose pulled him back. His calm rarely ceded to the pinpricks of what it meant to be sought, to have others seek his advice, plainly with a certain regard for his solitary habits that they would also know when to ignore. To sit and enjoy chatting with Dorian about history and magic, to sit across from Varric and talk about the peoples of the world, listening to the dwarf's embellished tales and raw truths. His times with Cole, guiding him, talking with him about the world—both worlds—felt like a bridge between. He could relax his guard around the young spirit, admiring his strong purpose did not make Solas hurt, as he might otherwise when thoughts turned to his own duties, but drew him out into a sense of peace. These goings on at Skyhold were a mere chapter. His was a longer game.

Nirwen, the challenge to anything was the woman sleeping before his eyes, peacefully this time, her exhaustion from the long trip and their lovemaking had clearly settled her mind. Some nights, she stirred, even thrashed, still, if terrible memories or worries took over. Solas was an observant man, though even he was still susceptible to passions and worry of his own. Even in those times, he warned himself against decisions even as he was taking them. In spite of himself, here they were, together, in love, pulled toward one another in the most profound of ways, and yet there was always something he could not offer. He knew she sensed there was something in him, something that was his, and treated him with patience he did not deserve, born out of her self and also, the depth of her love. What had gone almost unspoken between them was the nature of things. The words had been said, their love clearly shared, but what 'next', what 'further' once Corypheus had been defeated and the Inquisition's place reassessed, that had been silently deferred.

She began to still some of those doubts, with her steady brightness, her humorous jabs at convention and even at Solas himself. How he wanted to be full with her. He decided that the truth would be something he could give her, but that was before doubt's return, nagging at his desire. It was a quiet battle he would keep fighting inside, because he allowed himself to stop resisting the full extent of what this—what she meant to him, and the growing notion that this was something he could, perhaps, permit himself now, was worth the consideration.

With knowledge she could not possess, Nirwen's gaze lifted some of his weariness, warmed his heart with her contemplation. She loved intensely, even though she had been hurt before. The moments belonging just to them both, they were so very....real.


End file.
